Stepping Closer
by mockingjosh
Summary: For that time Clare had spent… not talking about herself, with the only person she could be herself with—it was the most relaxing time she has had in a while. ONESHOT. Eclare.


_**A/N: Hi. So, I felt the need to do a meaningless one-shot, just because I felt like writing and I didn't feel like doing Wallflower's next chapter. I hope you enjoy. I'm trying a new writing style, somewhat influenced by Suzanne Collins. Probably going to be a major disappointment, but, nonetheless, here is the randomness that is my brain.**_

_**I do not own Degrassi, or The Hunger Games, or anything else I may mention in here. However, I do own items from both fandoms. (I'll try not to mention any spoilers).**_

It's the cold breeze that brings Clare to alert, and as she trudges through the snow in her knit cap, cheeks flushed and hair tussled, she doesn't know what she is supposed to be doing.

Because on this December morning, nothing matters. She has been wandering aimlessly around the town for an hour now, just to get away from everything.

It wasn't like anything was going wrong, though. Jake and her have managed to completely and utterly wipe away any existing feelings, and most of the awkwardness is gone, which Clare thinks is progress. Clare's mother is the happiest she has seen her in years, and Clare is happy for her; her mom finally gets to be treated correctly and to be loved.

So, oddly enough, this stroll has nothing to do with her home life, which is an odd feeling, considering most of her pondering moments had to do with her family. Although, she had Eli then, and things were a lot easier to cope with.

Clare stumbles upon an old looking, abandoned apartment building, and sits down on one of the front steps right by the door. Her butt feels slightly cold, and she adjusts slightly so she's sitting partially on her feet. She grabs her shoulder bag, and looks through; pulling out a new series she had gotten into. Turning to the page where she used the bookmark to mark her page with, she sighs, puffing her cheeks, beginning to read.

Peeta loves Katniss. He loves her more than life itself, and you know it's the most genuine thing in the world because he knew he loved her from the time he was a little boy. It's not young love; young love isn't irreplaceable. It doesn't make your heart ache with anything more than feeling stupid. Peeta's love for Katniss is rare, and it's beautiful as well. Of course, love like that can sometimes have consequences, but Peeta was a fighter, and he always saw a brighter day. Katniss was his _reason for living_, and like he said in 'Catching Fire', he has no reason to live besides her.

Katniss loves Peeta, though, too.

She doesn't know what love is—she's naïve; she thought every token of affection he ever showed for her in the first Hunger Games was merely an act to fool the Capitol. But like Finnick had mentioned, he knew. So, even then, the power of fate triumphed on.

Clare huffs, closing her book hastily and throwing it on the sidewalk. Normally, she would check immediately to see if there was any existing damage to the book, but right now, she was too caught up in her own thoughts.

_A love like that is extremely rare_, Clare thinks to herself, and sees no point in ever trying to love again. Sure, she's a teenager. And, yes, eventually, _hopefully_, she will find someone that will love her unconditionally, and they will get married and have a fairy-tale romance. But, just like Peeta's love for Katniss, this fate is rather rare.

Clare has been told she is naïve many times; that she is too quick to forgive, and it's only going to get her hurt. Yet, when she tried to block off her feelings about Eli, to not forgive him, to hold a grudge (even though he did the exact same thing with _Love Roulette_), some people didn't favour it.

It's seems, Clare sneers to herself, that you just cannot win in this game we play called life.

She thought Jake was forever. Hell, she was just about ready to give herself up to him, but he had stopped her, and then promptly dumped her. Now, almost 2 months later, she was over it.

Looking back, Clare surprises herself as she realizes that she doesn't know what made Jake any different from Eli, or even _KC. _ Clare grimaces at the mere memory. Jake was cute; but so was Eli. Jake understood her; but Eli did as well, on a totally different level.

So what made him so special?

Clare's eyes widen at her thoughts. _ Wow, if the Clare from two months ago heard these thoughts… _she giggles to herself, and surprises herself yet again. She then imagines what niner Clare would think. She barely even remembers her thoughts from back then, but she could guess her response, at the time, would be in an incredulous tone—"How could I ever have even thought of doing something like that?"

Eli. She wonders what went wrong. Well, she _knows _what went wrong. The entire school does; how Eli had, more or less, a mental breakdown, crashing his hearse into a wall for his girlfriend at the time. Not only this, but, it's no rumour that he's bipolar as well. Much to Clare's shock, the school and its students are pretty accepting of him and his flaws, and it almost makes her feel a bit of guilt.

He did get a standing ovation after his play… sure, it was a far stretched, totally out of line move to write it in the first place, but, he worked hard on it, even if he wasn't in his right mind at the time. Looking back, Clare realizes that he almost never was, it seems.

Although, almost all of the greatest artists; whether it be painters, or writers, or composers—were mentally insane. That's what made them so great. Vincent Van Gogh stopped eating all together due to the fact that his paintings were more important. He wasn't the only one. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had a vision that his dead father came to tell him to write a piece for a funeral, and while he's finishing it on his deathbed, he comes to believe that the piece he's composing is for his _own _funeral.

Sure, she and Eli haven't talked in a while, but she knows that one day, he'll be a huge success and forget all about her. Clare tells herself this, but isn't even truly convinced by her own mind.

Clare wrinkles her nose as a snow flake falls onto it, and she tucks in her upper lip to blow the flake off. It is way too cold, and Clare knows that it's winter in Toronto, but she wishes she were anywhere else but here, maybe Florida, she suggests.

Clare picks at her cheap nail polish, still thinking about her life; about Eli. This is one of the things she cannot stand about her brain—it brings up the worst, most-hard-to-deal-with topics at absolutely inconvenient times.

She tries to think of Alli; how great their friendship was. They had been through it all, she realizes, and suddenly, she wishes for little naïve, Saint Clare, to come and possess her body. Clare shakes her head amusingly at how ironic that sounds. _The epitome of an oxymoron_, she concludes.

She hears the clicking of bike tires on the sidewalk and it soothes her—almost like a metronome; never losing a beat, and always there to catch you when you fall.

The sound gets closer, and she wonders if she isn't the only one who likes breathing the cold air, even if she doesn't like the weather itself.

"Oof!" yells a voice, and Clare's head snaps up immediately, gasping in the cold air, but she doesn't mind—the sight in front of her is more important. She feels her heart stop, an adrenaline rush surging throughout her body.

Because Eli Goldsworthy is lying on the sidewalk, his body limp and bending in ways it shouldn't, a bike perched on his body, his head resting on her forgotten about novel.

She squeals, suddenly off of her step to help him, and he protests half-heartedly, "No, it's okay, Clare. I can get up." But his continuous squirming under the bicycle tells her otherwise, and she quickly lifts off the vehicle off of his body, kneeling down to him.

"Are you okay?" asks Clare, a panicked tone evident in her voice. Eli groans as he kneels up on his elbows.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine, just a couple of broken bones and scarring memories," chuckles Eli hesitantly, brushing off his legs cautiously as he attempts to stand.

Clare intervenes. "I- uh, here. Let me help," she stammers, grabbing his cold hands to help pull him up.

It takes him a while, given the obvious soreness from the incident, but after a minute, he joins Clare on the steps, and she doesn't let go of his hands, the shock of the whole situation still shaking her.

"Your hands are warm," notes Eli, and he lets go of one of her mitts to grab her book. "Ah, _The Hunger Games_—great trilogy. Probably the best I've ever read."

Clare's face lightens up; she's missed these deep, meaningful book conversations she's lacked since the breakup.

"Isn't it?" marvels Clare, sighing deeply. "Which book is your favourite?"

Eli looks pensive for a moment, staring into space as he thinks of an answer. His eyes show recognition, and he turns to Clare quickly, a smile on his face. "The Hunger Games."

Clare is shocked to say the least—well, not entirely. I mean, Eli has always been a fan of detailed gore, and Suzanne Collins is all about that.

"Hm," hums Clare. "I would've thought you would say Catching Fire." Eli glances up at her, as if awaiting her explanation.

She breathes in the crisp air. "It's just… you love the plot lines where everything comes together. How everything happens for a reason, and that one thing connects to another somehow," says Clare.

Eli smiles at her. "Noted," he grins, "but… I don't know. It's something about Peeta and Katniss' relationship that really gets to me in the first book. Peeta is so sincere about everything—he knows Katniss so well, and Katniss doesn't even realize how lucky she is to have a person like him in her life."

"Noted," she repeats, and Eli shoots her a playful glance. "The first two are my favourite. As for the other, I've read it a thousand times, and I'm still not over Mockingjay. So many people die!"

"Well, I mean, you can't be surprised. But, the same thing happened with me," laughs Eli, grabbing her hand again as he sets the book down.

"So do I even have to ask?" questions Clare, and Eli looks at her questioningly, not knowing where her question is heading. "It wouldn't hurt."

"You prefer Katniss with Peeta—correct?" concludes Clare, and Eli shakes his head vigorously.

"Well, yeah. Who else is going to bake the bread?" states Eli seriously, and Clare bursts out laughing.

And this is how it went on. They sat there for 2 hours—talking about everything and nothing (of course, all having to do with books) like Slaughterhouse-5, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and 1984; Clare ignoring her mother's text messages and Eli ignoring his internal pains and possible fractured bones.

Because they had missed this, and they had needed this.

And as Eli calls up Bullfrog for a ride home, and Clare gathers her things, they both can't help but notice the dragging, the reluctance. For that time she had spent… not talking about herself, with the only person she could be herself with—it was the most relaxing time she has had in a while.

And she wanted to do it again; to aimlessly discuss books and characters and movies and anything that tickles their fancy.

So they did.

_**A/N: So, what did you think? If you review, please tell me if you liked how I wrote like this, or if I should stick to my old style.**_

_**I love you all—and may the odds be ever in your favour. **_


End file.
